Drowning in Whiskey
by Sare K
Summary: Bones McCoy thought he knew Nurse Christine Chapel. Little did he know what lay beneath that straight-laced exterior, and exactly how much whiskey it would take to find it. Rated for language and possibly other stuff.


A/N: I own nothing. It's all owned by Roddenberry and Abrams.

"He's dead, Jim."

Head Nurse Christine Chapel had heard that phrase too many times to count. Some poor ensign who got caught in the crossfire, some bright cadet who was just trying to make a difference. Every time she heard that phrase she thought she froze a little more. Ever since the complete destruction that occurred at the hands of Nero, combined with their responsibility to act as both the flagship and symbol of Starfleet…They were far too young. Too damn young for this responsibility and it was starting to show. That's what brought Christine to the ship's lounge. She often visited after her shifts. She always sat alone. After a day of treating patients she couldn't bear to be around other people. She'd begun her tour by drinking what her ex-fiancé had called "girly drinks"; Cosmopolitans, appletinis…those had quickly turned into shots of whiskey, straight up.

She thought of Dr. Roger Korby, the man whose ring she'd given back shortly before reporting for duty on _Enterprise_. He'd died less than twelve hours later on the _Farragut_. She mourned his death the way one would mourn a friend they didn't like very much. She'd loved him, or so she'd thought, but one too many dalliances on his part with the rest of the nursing class had cut their engagement off. She looked at her drink and smirked. Korby never drank. He'd said he'd rather be up shit creek without a paddle than become some drunken reprobate like Leonard McCoy. Christine chuckled darkly. Lot of good it did him. Now Korby was dead and McCoy very much alive. Alive and grouchy as ever. For such a brilliant doctor his bedside manner left much to be desired. More than half the medical staff was terrified of him.

At that moment the brilliant but grouchy doctor sat not twenty feet from Head Nurse Christine Chapel. He watched her drink her whiskey with a little awe. Wasn't every day a man saw his five foot nothing nurse down what looked like her fourth whiskey without falling over. Damn, that woman had stamina, he thought. He'd been watching her for days now, never having the nerve to talk to her. Sure, it was easy in Sick Bay with dozens of wounded patients and nothing to say but "Hand me this, Chapel." and to hear her immediate reply of "Yes Doctor." But now, now that he saw her outside of her element it was as if he was looking at an entirely different woman. The Christine Chapel he knew from work was reserved, straight-laced. Nothing like this shaken, almost battered woman he saw here. He caught her looking in his direction and immediately shifted his gaze to the bar. The Russian kid was trying out pick-up lines on an Orion engineer who looked twice his age whilst mainlining cheap vodka. Jesus, McCoy hoped he hadn't gotten those lines from Jim.

He dared to look at Christine again and realized that she was still staring at him. He gestured to the empty seat in front of her and she nodded. He walked over to her and set his drink on the table.

"Wouldn't have pegged you for a whiskey person," he said, sitting in the chair across from her. She shrugged.

"It tastes awful," she replied, "but it does the trick." McCoy chuckled.

"You haven't been drinking the right whiskey then." Christine shrugged.  
"I wouldn't know the right whiskey if it slapped me in the face." McCoy downed his shot.

"I have better stuff in my quarters if you'd like some," he said. Chapel looked at him like he'd electrocuted her.

"You want me to drink with you in your quarters?" she asked. McCoy realized how it must have sounded and quickly corrected himself.

"No, no," he said. "I only meant we could share the whiskey. We could drink wherever you'd like." Christine sighed with relief. She knew little of the doctor's reputation with the ladies, only knowing he was divorced. She'd certainly hoped he was nothing like his friend and Captain James T. Kirk.

"Sure, why not?"

That was how Christine Chapel found herself walking the halls of _Enterprise_ with Leonard "Bones" McCoy. She'd often wondered why Kirk called him that. Kirk, who somehow managed to convey both womanizing bastard and quite capable ship's captain all at once. It was no secret he was sleeping his way through the female crewmembers. Christine herself had dodged the bullet on many an occasion, usually being saved by McCoy's gruff "Damnit Jim, not my nurses!" Over the past few months she'd garnered a lot of respect for the sardonic doctor. He wasn't all bad really, just liked to have things done a certain way and had no patience for incompetence. She certainly agreed with him. What's the use of a medical degree if you don't know how to use it? She preferred the gruff doctor to some of the more cheerful members of the crew. She couldn't stand the captain, and couldn't understand the effect he had on the fairer sex. In all honesty she found McCoy far more appealing. For one thing he was blunt. Christine couldn't stand men who beat around the bush. He was a consummate physician who probably cared more about the crewmembers than anyone else on the damn ship. She hadn't notice that they had stopped moving until McCoy spoke to her.

"I'll be right back," he said. "Wait here." Wait here, he thought. Jesus. Now she was going to be standing out there like an idiot. He wasn't sure why he'd suggested that they drink alone together, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Truth be told it had been ages since he'd spent any significant amount of time with a woman, particularly an intelligent one. Sure he'd played wingman to Jim's sorry ass antics at the Academy. He'd even brought home a few willing participants himself. But they were either too young, too immature, or hell, too boring. Vapid and pretty might work for his younger counterpart, but not for the older, wiser, and pickier doctor. And Chapel had made quite the impression both with her vast medical knowledge and her stunning ass. They really did need to lengthen the regulation skirts…He grabbed the Tennessee whiskey he'd been saving for a special occasion and exited his room.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Observation deck?" Christine suggested.

"Sure."

They walked together in silence, both silently thanking some higher power that they corridors were empty. The last thing either of them needed was someone thinking they were screwing. Fucking ones' charges was Jim Kirk behavior, not befitting a somewhat respectable doctor and his straight-laced head nurse. They entered the observation deck and sat on a bench overlooking the stars. McCoy took a swig from the bottle and watched Christine pull from it as well. She really was very pretty. He hadn't noticed it before. She had dark blonde hair that he usually saw pulled back in a severe bun. Now it fell loosely around her shoulders and he was tempted to push it back so as to see the curve of her neck. He realized that although he saw her every day and spent most of his time with her, he really didn't know Christine Chapel at all. If he had he'dve known that she'd been watching him with equal fascination. Before joining Starfleet Christine had never encountered a man who wore his demons on his sleeve. Here was a man who had seen life, tasted it, and was trying something new. Not quite voluntarily, if she remembered correctly, but no matter.

"How's the whiskey?" McCoy asked.

"Much better," Christine replied.

"We're lucky there's no one here."

"Oh?"

"Mmhmm," he said. "This place is often used as a sort of lover's lane." Christine raised an eyebrow.

"Really?" McCoy chuckled.

"But I just come here to think." Christine took a swig.

"Come here to think or come here to drink?" McCoy shrugged sheepishly.

"Perhaps a bit of both," he said. Christine tsked.

"You know drinking alone is an early sign of a problem," she said. He gestured around them.

"Does it look like I'm drinking alone?" McCoy drank deeply from the bottle.

Christine stood up and walked around the observation deck. The stars really were beautiful. She hadn't stargazed since she was a child and truly missed it. But now all she could watch was the doctor drinking his whiskey as if it were water.

"Doctor, I think you've had enough," she said gently.

"Damnit woman, we're not in Sick Bay," he growled, "so quit with the 'Doctor' shit."

"Fine," she said. "_Leonard_, you've had enough." She tried to pry the bottle away from his iron grip. Damn the man was strong. After a minute he gave in and she took the bottle. In a surprise mood she reopened it and took a long pull. She winked at him cheekily.

"Damn woman," McCoy said, rising from the bench. "You tricked me." Christine laughed.

"Yeah, I did," she said. "What are you gonna do about it?" Without warning McCoy grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her against the wall.

"Give it back," he said darkly. Christine shook her head. "Okay," he said. "I warned you."

With that he pressed his mouth against hers in a bruising kiss. They both tasted like the whiskey they'd been drinking. He could smell the soap in her hair and she the disinfectant permeating through his clothes combined with sweat and who knows what else. Christine ran her hands up McCoy's arms and gripped the short hairs on the back of his head. McCoy's hands were busy gripping her tightly against his much taller frame. He had to stoop to reach her, and she to stand on her toes. Finally he gave up and lifted her up until her legs were wrapped around his waist. The upward motion brought Christine back to her senses. They were drunk. On the Observation Deck. He was her superior officer and his mouth was latched firmly to the side of her neck.

"Leonard," she practically moaned insistently. "Leonard. Fuck. _Doctor_!" It was the "Doctor" that got his attention and he stopped, looking up at her. "I don't think we should-" she began but he cut her off.

"You're right," he said, putting her down. "We've been drinking and-"

"That's not what I meant," Christine replied. "I just figured we should probably take this someplace where the Captain or anyone else would find us." McCoy grinned, the first smile she'd seen on him since the Academy.

"My bunk or yours?"

Christine Chapel woke to an insistent buzzing at her door. For a moment she'd forgotten where she was. The pictures were the same, the decorations were the same, this was most certainly her room…but why was there a...and then the night came back to her. Drinking with McCoy, watching him watch her, him kissing her. They'd decided to go to her room because no one would think to look for him there. He'd made short work of her uniform and she his before they collapsed on the bed in a drunken heap of moving arms and legs. She recalled the feeling of his hands pinning her shoulders as he drove into her mercilessly until she cried out. And there had been a repeat performance. Three, to be precise. She was shaken from her reverie by the continued buzzing. She turned on the communicator.

"Yes," she said groggily.

"Nurse Chapel?" It was Lt. Uhura.

"Yes Lieutenant?"

"Have you seen Doctor McCoy?" Uhura asked. Christine looked to her left at the man beside her.

"No," she said. "But his shift doesn't start for four hours. Is something the matter?"

"No," Uhura snorted. "Captain Kirk won't stop complaining about how 'Bones' stood him up for breakfast." Christine laughed.

"If I see him I'll point him in that direction," she said. "Chapel out." She sank back down on the bed, only to be pulled backward by a pair of strong arms. She looked down into the very much awake face of Leonard McCoy.

"There's no way I'm getting out of this bed before my shift starts," he said.

"Duly noted, Doctor," Chapel replied.

"More whiskey tonight?" he asked.

"Sure," she said. "My place or yours?"

A/N: I've never written a _Star Trek_ fic before, and never pictured Bones doing anything of the kinky sort before, but something about Karl Urban's performance inspired me to write this.


End file.
